


This is gross

by Annony (Lemmingbot)



Category: GamerGate RPF
Genre: 1/3 porn, 2/3 world and character building, Fauns & Satyrs, Frottage, M/M, Masturbation, Public Blow Jobs, Size Kink, Sweet Jesus, a Canadian with one arm sucks off an Australian, angry blowjob, dubcon, i need to take a shower forever, im so sorry, throatfucking, what have I done?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-21
Updated: 2015-02-02
Packaged: 2018-02-22 00:41:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,640
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2488067
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lemmingbot/pseuds/Annony
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Its all Problematic 5000s fault AND Problematic 3000s fault.  No editing, no beta, no shame.  If either IA or Nero see this, I'm so, so sorry, unless you like it, then you're welcome.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Gross

It had been exactly two weeks since the city of 4chan had fallen, fourteen days since the refugee camp had been established by the displaced, yet it was still so surreal. Milo was not a habitual visitor to the city, but the not-always-paved-winding streets, mischievous population and anarchic atmosphere could not disguise the power housed just behind closed doors and age-bleached curtains. 4chan was-or had been- the city of freedom, the population did as they liked and defended the Clover flag zealously.

And all it took was for Moot, the once benevolent Lord, to silence the population’s speech of the GamerGate War. Within the day, most of the citizens had absconded to the north, to the town of 8chan.

8Chan was hardly the little hamlet it was just the month before, the established 8chan citizens had opened their homes willingly to the first refugees until every bed, sofa and chair was filled and even then the bodies kept pouring in. Hotwheels, based and kind as he was, did everything in his power to accommodate the influx, stretching the town thin in order to feed the massive influx and had already began laying out plans for expansions. When Milo came upon the town, a ring of refugee tents formed a halo of waterproof fabric around what had been the town’s limits at one point in time and looking at it now, from the attic window of the Pokémon board mod, it seemed to sprawl even larger, like an ocean with awful color coordination in the cool moonlight. 

From this point he could spot flickering bonfires illuminating dark figures, faint laughter and muddled music played just on the edge of his hearing. The man rested an elbow on the dusty sill, this was what freedom looked like now. Milo had to admit, he liked it, while 4Chan’s neon lit alleyways and filthy cafes would always hold a strange allure, this little town, with it’s quiet nights had a feel that made him hope for the future.

The Brit hadn’t even known he nodded off until his nose hit the sill and he inhaled a lung full of dust and dead bugs in shock. The sensation shocked Milo to his feet. Sputtering and sneezing, he stumbled to his foot locker where he grabbed for the wad of Kleenex he had stuffed in there at the last minute.

After thoroughly cleaning his nose Milo turned to the tired little cot he had clamed for his stay. His host had been kind enough to throw some clean blankets, a pillow and even a doe-eyed eevee plush on it in an effort to offer some comfort to his guest, or guests, if the second cot (virtually the same as his, save for the little stuffed pikachu) was any indication. Roommate or not, the Brit could feel the pull of sleep at his mind as he reached to flip off the lamp. Without more than a thought, Milo toed off his shoes, stripped his pants and shirt from his body and slipped between the blankets.

 

Loud movement just outside the attic door shocked Milo from his sleep, his eyes opened a slit just in time to witness the door fly open to allow a stumbling figure in a velveteen jacket and a powdered wig to enter the tiny attic. With all the urgency of a tranquilized galopigose tortus Milo sat himself up.

“Hey…” The Brit mumbled at the other man’s back.

In a flurry of white and blue, the figure was looking at him from behind a sneering comedy mask. It would have been frightening had the man not been swaying like a pendulum and reeking of cheap vodka. Recognition flashed across Milo’s face. The Internet Aristocrat.

Milo had spoken with the man before, the intensely private YouTuber had invited him to several of his remote speeches after the GameJournoPro list went live, and though they only spoke briefly afterwards, Milo had to admit that he looked up to the Aristocrat, if not for his debate skills than certainly for the endless stream of snark.

The Aristocrat chuckled behind the grinning mask and straitened himself, releasing his grip from the sabre at his waist (had Milo really spooked the man that much?)

“Neeeeeroooooo”, He slurred going back to the luggage he had unceremoniously dropped all over the bed. He busied himself with ordering the suitcases at the foot of the cot, swaying the entire time.

“I didn’t know you’d be here.” Milo started, “I thought you were going to stay home for a little while.”

“I’m a liar, Nero” he kicked the last suitcase into place. “I assume you’re here for the…” the Aristocrat waved his hand in the air, “thing with the other GamerGate generals? Well I got word that King of Pol was coming and it felt irresponsible to allow Sargon to be the only nanny.”

Milo gave a sincere laugh at that, “Yes, I do suppose that would be rather mean.”

The Aristocrat nodded before plopping down on his own cot, causing a rather loud squeak as it protested the sudden weight... His hands were at the buttons of his sky blue justacorps, fumbling to get them open.

Milo felt his heart catch in shock, the Brit knew how self-contained the Aristocrat was, refusing to take off so much as a thread of his foppish regalia in public, lest his identity be found out. How drunk was the American? The finely embroidered coat was tossed over the suitcase pile like it was an old blanket before the Aristocrat’s fingers attacked the pearly waistcoat then the belt that held his scabbard and sabre It was only when the man reached up to remove the mask did Milo find his voice.

“You do realize I’m still here, Aristocrat?”  
The man turned his head to Milo, a moment of silence stretched between them before the YouTuber huffed dismissively.

“I don’t really care.”

And with that he pulled of the wig and mask tossing them on the suitcases with the rest of the discarded finery. Milo couldn’t help but stare, he really fucking did look like the Scout from TF2. An angled jaw, wide smile, brunet mop and blue eyes, it was almost scary.

“Imma cute motherfucker, aren’t I?” The Aristocrat sneered as he undid his cravat.

Well, yeah….. Milo blushed just a bit as his ally pulled his white shirt over his head, revealing a narrow chest and, Milo noted, a long scar continuing from his nipple to the peak of his hip, it didn’t look particularly old either.

“Tumblrettes, I was researchin’ and got recognized by one of the SJWs then got swarmed, I was lucky that one of the Real Justice patrols came by.” He gave a bitter laugh, “Don’ go to that city alone, Nero.”

Milo nodded half heartedly, his focus on the other man’s hands as they worked his pants and stockings off, revealing a surprisingly modern pair of boxers and long, skinny legs. Without the getup, the Aristocrat looked so small and reedy that if it wasn’t for the silvery voice Milo would never have suspected them being the same man. 

(FUCK SHIT ITS 10:30 CUT TO PROMICED PORN, DUN WORRY THEY TURN THE PLUSHES TO THE WALL SO THEY WON'T SEE)

The Aristocrat, with more finesse than a shitfaced person should ever posses, slipped under the blankets and deposited himself on Milo’s thighs. He shoved one hand down the Brit’s boxers to palm at the hard cock, watching the surprise melt into bliss. The feelings whiped Milo’s mind of any thought beyond ‘more’, he gasped as the man on top of him applied pressure just so, making his back arch off the bed. The Aristocrat laughed low and deep in his throat, withdrawing his hand and urgently stripping them both of their boxers.

Milo looked down at the other man’s length, momentarily transfixed by the bead of pre dripping from the slit. It was beautiful and he fucking wanted it, inside him, on him, it didn’t matter so long as he had it.

The Brit’s hunger must have been written on his face because suddenly the Aristocrat’s mouth was pressed against his own, tongue forcing its way between his lips. Milo savored the American’s sharp, alcoholic taste, sucking and stroking the other’s tongue with his own. Through the haze Milo managed to hook his legs over the Aristocrat’s narrow hips and bucked up so that their cocks brushed.

The Arristocrat broke the kiss with a breathy moan, his own hips rolling in search of more friction. He was able to regain his composure and met Milo’s hooded gaze with an odd little shine in his eye.

Before Milo could puzzle what the other was doing the Aristocrat flattened himself on top of the Brit, snaking his thin arms around the other’s waist and shoulders. He began to rut his cock against Milo who in turn rocked his hips in time to the other man’s thrusts.

It was utter bliss, Milo’s pants became full on moans, the cot beneath them squeaked in protest, something in the back of his head told him that he was in a house full of sleeping people who didn’t want to hear him fucking the Internet Aristocrat but you know what fuck them for oppressing him and his dick.

The Aristocrat’s breath was getting heavier and heavier, his hips no longer in any discernable rhythm. His orgasm was heralded by a few shaky ‘haaah’s and a sudden wash of slick and hot between them, this sensation alone was enough to send Milo over the edge himself, crying out and fisting the sheets so hard he swore he heard a seam pop.

When Milo finally came back to earth he lay there, panting, too spent to even change position.

THUNKTHUNKTHUNKTHUNK

The door was almost ripped from it’s hinges as someone pounded against it with the fury of a gender-special being told that ‘fae’ was not a pronoun.

“SHUT THE FUCK UP, YOU FAGGOTY CUNT SACKS! I SWARE TO FUCKING GOD I WILL MURDER YOU” The voice of someone who sounded a lot like King of Pol split through the air before stomping back down the attic steps.

“We did a good thing, Nero.”

Milo licked his lips at the sound of his pseudonym.

“Milo, I’m Milo.”

“Milo” The Aristocrat seemed to be tasteing the word, before leaning forward to whisper in the other’s ear, “Jim.”


	2. This is also super gross

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> DeadwingDuck aka Hook aka Claw aka PeenusWeenus/Starman Cookies and Blowjobs
> 
> No beta, no shame. Written and posted with consent of both goys.

Starman whimpered as Hook licked a stripe up his neck, unused to the softness from the other man. ShiftyClan was known for their ‘unique’ form of team bonding, the entire squad was in, what was for all intents and purposes, an open relationship with one another. Even by the liberal standards of the ShiftyClan the pair had been unusually close that entire day. Starman had insisted on holding hands and Hook had actually consented to it. It escalated from that point, Hook resting an arm on Starmans’ shoulder during Synthovines’ debriefing, exchanging quick pecks on the mouth when no one was watching, Starman even fought up the courage to rub a palm over Hook’s ass as the group had been walking to the bar earlier that evening.

The Australian was now sandwiched between the Canadian and the wall of the 8Chan town hall, flushed and painfully hard. The brunet’s mind was fogged with heat and it took every ounce of his will to not cry out as he felt Hook cup his cock through his jeans. Starman squealed and arched into the touch, almost throwing himself onto the other but he was slammed back into the brick by the lighter haired man.

“Be a good boy and don’t you move, or I WILL put the claw in your rectum.” Hook muttered into the other man’s ear.

The Canadian sank to his knees and Starman obediently kept his back stuck to the wall, not for fear of an ass hooking (he had to admit that it was a hot idea) but because he wanted to be a good boy for the other man. With a deft hand, Hook undid Starman’s pants, pushing both them and the boxers down just enough so that the brunets’ drooling length. Without so much as a warning, the one-armed man leaned forward and pressed a light kiss to the head of his ally’s cock. Starman couldn’t help the loud ‘Oh!’ that passed his lips anymore than he could stop his own heart from beating.

The Canadian looked up into the other man’s beet red face, green eyes flashing mischeviously. Starman was so new to their group, so unused to this kind of attention that nearly everything flustered him, it was adorable to watch him. Eager to push more sounds from the Aussie, Hook leaned in again, taking the head of Starman’s cock in between his lips and began to suck on it like he would a lollipop, swirling his tongue over the slit.

Starman almost thrust forward out of instinct, but a hand grabbed his hipbone and kept him where he was. Hook then took to suckling even more enthusiastically than before, hollowing out his cheeks and beginning to bob his head, ever so slightly, getting more and more of the length in to his mouth. Starmans’ head tipped back on to the brick, his mouth agape, brain unable to prossess anything but the mouth around his length. 

When Hook had managed to work over half of the Aussies’ cock into his mouth he paused then began to pull back, being sure to caress the underside with his tongue as he went. The light haired man pulled his mouth away from the other’s slick cock, his mouth and chin wet with a mixture of saliva and pre-cum. Starman looked so desperate, his hips rolling into thin air, searching for some, any, stimulation. His ragged breathing sounding almost like sobs as the Australian met Hooks’ heated blue-green gaze.

“God please, Hook, don’t… please.” His voice was shaking almost as much as his knees, his eyes were almost brimming with desperate tears “Don’t stop.”

Hook doesn’t say a word, his wide grin speaking for him, as he brings his hand up to firmly grasp Starman at the root. The darker haired man had to bite hard into his own knuckles to muffle his cry as pleasure crackled up his spine. Hook leaned in like he was about to take the length back into his mouth, pausing just as his lips met the head.

“Ask nicely, Starman,” The Canadians breath ghosted over Starmans’ wet dick, making him moan and shudder.

“Please, Hook, please suck me off.” Starman whimpered into his knuckle, “I’ve been a good boy, please…”

“Only cause you’re so pretty when you beg.” And Hook sucked Starman back into his mouth, working it in earnest this time, forcing the length deeper and deeper with every bob of his head. The Australians’ hands are fisting Hooks caramel colored hair, his eyes rolling back in his skull, it was so good, too good. His hips began making small bucking movements, despirate to feel more and more of his cock inside of Hook’s eager mouth. Every little movement, every swipe of a tongue and bob of the head, pushed Starman closer and closer to oblivion, the Australian was crying out now, not caring that he was waking up all of 8Chan.

“God, Hook, I cant last, I’m going to……” Hook drew the cock out of his throat, sucking hard, swirling his tongue against the underside of the straining length. 

Starman was undone, his eyes screwed shut, the muscles in his stomach tightened. He lost all pretenses and began full on thrusting into Hook’s mouth, the man on his knees sucking down as much of Starmans’ seed as he could, the rest dribbleing from the corners of his mouth.

Starman slumped against the brick wall as his orgasm abated, he was left in a blissfully blank state, Gamergate, recon and the rest of the world and it’s problems were far, far away. He barely even registered Hook’s mouth releasing his cock, all was good now, all was peaceful.

One hand presses on the Australians’ shoulder bidding him to kneel, Starman obediently sinks to his knees, mind still in a daze, cock pulsing with the aftershocks.

“Now, my sweet boy, are you ready to return the favor?”


	3. DPakman X Milo grossness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well, I did IT again, Gamergate. I wrote another slash fic.  
> Not in my usual High Fantasy AU though.
> 
> If Milo or David ever read this, I hope you can get a chuckle out of this trash heap of words, if not, I'm sorry.

Milo had stormed his way into Pakman’s office like a Spanish bull, eyes burning with fury.

“You derailed me,” Milo’s pretty features twisted in absolute, unquestionable rage. “You slanderous little slut!”

For a moment, David couldn’t move, the British man had only just spoke to him on air, cool and collected, not a hair out of place. In the mere minutes that had passes since that moment, Milo seemed to have transformed into a demon of wrath. And worst than that, he was right, Pakman had derailed the interview, right off the tracks and into the napalm factory that was a British, Catholic, gay man’s temper. 

“That little red herring was adorable, David.” Milo stalked over to the American’s desk, planting his hands on it and leaning over. “Didn’t your teachers ever tell you that’s a no-no?”

David opened his mouth to defend himself, say it was unintentional, an accident, but both men knew that was shit. But he had to say something, he had to apologize at least.

“Milo, I…” David’s head was whipped to the side, cheek stinging… did… did Milo just slap him?

“On your knees.”

“Wha…”

“Are you slow, David? On your knees, you don’t deserve a chair”

Pakman wilted under Milo’s hot anger and slowly, so very slowly, slipped out of his swivel chair and onto the carpet. He didn’t know what had possessed him to yeld to the other man with so little resistance but it made his guts twist with unease. Pakman suddenly tried to look at something, anything other than that man in front of his desk.

It was quiet for a moment, then Pakman heard the other journalist step around behind the desk. Dave risked a glance up to see Milo turning the chair so that he could take a seat.

“Now David,” Milo’s voice was soft again, like he was talking to a child, “I can appreciate your efforts to give the gamers a platform, but…” David could hear the Brit shifting forward. “I don’t like when people waste my time by diverting from the issues at hand.”

“I… I deeply apologize, Mr.Yiannopoulos.” Pakman tried to draw from his newscaster headspace but it sounded utterly pathetic, he’d fucked up and Milo wasn’t going to let it go. “I made an error.”

Milo gave a low, soft chuckle, “Oh darling, you are going to be feeling this mistake for a week.” The Brit punctuated the last word by backhanding David across the other cheek.

Without giving the American so much as a moment to recover form the strike, Milo grabbed a fist full of his hair and forced the man to come face to zipper with crotch. Oh… ohhhhhhh…

David was not a stranger to cock, he’d been to college, he’d gone through a gay phase during which dick provided at least half of his caloric intake. He prayed that at least some of that experience had stayed with him as Milo single handedly undid his fly and pushed his boxers down, revealing his fat, half erect cock.

“Go on baby, say your sorry.” Milo pumped his length, pressing Pakman’s lips to the tip, but the kneeling man refused to open his mouth. He wanted to retain some scrap of pride, at least be able to say that he put up a token resistance even as pre come was smeared over his lips and chin.

Milo was having none of it, the Brit yanked the other man’s head back by the hair, “Get on with it, you incompetent mong, put your whore mouth to work.”

David whimpered as he parted his lips to take the drooling head into his mouth, hating and loving how it rested heavily on his tongue. The hand in his hair tightened and guided his head in a shallow bobbing motion. Ok, David could deal with this. He began to work Milo over with his tongue, searching for the most sensitive areas, anything to bring about the other man’s climax.

But Milo wouldn’t let Pakman off that easily, oh no.

The Brit’s hand left the American’s scalp for only a moment before cupping the back of Davids’ skull and pushing as much of Milos cock in his mouth as he could. Pakman barely resisted gagging as the hot flesh jabbed the back of his throat. His eyes watered, his throat swallowed around the obstruction. Oh God he could hardly breath and he loved it, he felt drool begin to drip over his lips and his own cock begin to strain against his own pants… Please, please, please…

Milo begins to pump his hips into Pakman’s mouth, hand still fisted in the other man’s hair. Every consecutive roll of his hips making both of them moan, pushing the Brit closer to drowning in heat and the American to drowning in cum. David, brain swimmy due to lack of oxygen and arousal, grips Milo’s thighs, trying to leverage himself as he began throat fucking himself in earnest.

Above him, Milo begins to squirm, soft voice gasping and uttering small ‘yes’s every time David’s tounge swipes a particularly sensitive vein. He is moments away from coming and, with one final thrust, he does. Pakman’s eyes go large as hot, viscous seed fills his mouth and throat.

They sit there for a moment as Milo to comes down from his high and as David swallows what he can.

The American breaks the silence first, “Wow” his voice is horse, his cock is still rock hard, a string of spit and cum on his chin. He feels so wonderfully, shamefully used. Milo makes an uppity chuffing noise, yanking Pakman by his silver tie and using the silky material to clean off his spent cock before tucking himself away.

“Unbearable faggot”, Milo muttered.


	4. WHY DO I DO THIS TO MY FRIENDS

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is why @Synthovine gets so angry so often

“My God, you are all fucking retards,” Synth snarled, throwing up his forehooves and scooting his chair back from the table with one kick. He was done, absolutely done, the Clawmmunists were a distracted bunch but they were usually able to at least focus on the details of the latest mission before devolving into jokes, not to-fucking-day though. The entire group had devolved into verbal shit posting before he had even began to outline anything. Synth, who’d admittedly drank too much the previous night and was still dealing with the repercussions of that choice, was too cranky to even entertain the idea of controlling the wild shitlords. 

So he simply chose not to.

The satyr stormed out of the debriefing room and into the streets of 8chan, frustration pouring off of him. Nothing could be easy for him could it? A hot wave of anger swept from his neck to his hooves, making him shutter. Fuck, he had to get back into the privacy of his rented room.

It had started when he was just barely in to his ram-hood, he had gotten into an argument with a close friend, Synth had feigned defeat so that he could tug one out in the bathroom. From then on Synth placed himself in aggravating situations almost as fervently as he sniffed out raunchy ewe pin ups, becoming a master at holding on to his fury until he could lock himself in his room.

By the time he arrived in his room, Synth was panting in both arousal and anger, his cock bulging painfully against the zipper of his pants. As the door closed, his fly was popped open and his wet, dripping member was exposed to the cool air of the small room. He briefly considered just spitting into his forehoof and rubbing it out, no, Synth was a special kind of pissed off today.

The satyr began rummaging through his foot locker, ripping out his immaculately folded clothes and tossing them aside like they had insulted him on a personal level, searching for his more ‘personal’ items. His fingers finally closed around a hefty chunk of silky silicone and he pulled out a thick, royal blue dragon dildo that Lemmingbot had smuggled him. It was blunt with a sizable knot near the base, about ten inches long and thick as a small cup. Yeah, he liked to ravage his own ass with thick, ridged dicks sometimes, he was a size queen, sue him!

Toy in hand, Synth practically threw himself on his bed, ass up, tail out of the way in what looked for all the world like a bitch in heat. Wasting no time, the satyr plunged a finger, totally dry, into his hole. The stretch fucking hurt, feeding the hot ball of rage in the rams belly. He worked himself open with one, then two, then three fingers, stretching himself just enough to accommodate the thick, punishing cock without injury but not without pain.

Synth pulled the digits from his body with a lewd, slick noise as he repositioned himself to kneel on the wood floor, arms resting on the mattress, the dildo head resting on his loosened entrance. Keeping the shaft steady with one forehoof, Synth breached himself with the toys head.

The satyr let out a long, low groan, the stretch stung but sweet God it felt so good. He paused when he had taken just under an inch, rolling his hips, letting the toy press up against his insides. Synth’s cock, heavy and ignored between his legs, pulsed with need as it began to drip precome. Fuck, he’d need to wipe the fucking floor, great. Another wave of hot fuckthisfuckthatfuckeverything crackled in Synth’s loins.

The ram bristled and his hips gave an involuntary jerk, stroking his inner walls just so. He could take more now. Bracing himself, Synth used the weight of his body to impale himself further and further on the toy. The room was filled with heavy breaths and muffled cries as the satyr sunk onto the cock. With each violating millimeter, Synth imagined himself straddling the hips of one of the Clawmunists, watching them as they gasped beneath him, trying to buck into his body but being unable to. Let them be frustrated, let him fuck with them for once.

When the toy’s large knot met Synth’s opening, he paused once again, this time allowing himself the luxury of grabbing his flagging cock and aggressively stroking it as he wiggled his hips again. Yeah, you feel me, you little cunt? You like my ass? You want to cum?

Synth began to grind against the knot with gusto now, feeling the bulge begin to slowly, painfully, slide inside of him, stretching and stretching his already abused hole. Im going to fucking take all of you! Synth bore down on the knot, and with a sharp sting and a slick noise, it seated itself inside the ram. 

The feeling of the hefty bulge finally locking the huge toy inside of his body was too much for Synth to bear. With a distressed bleating noise, the satyr’s entire nervous system lit up in ecstasy. His cock pulsed as it released rope after rope of white over the floor, hips bucking, hole pulling at the knot deliciously. The invisible Clawmunist below him was crying out, begging Synthovine for relief as well, but no, they would be left to deal with their own needs.

Synth let himself fall sideways as he was released from his orgasm, boneless on the dusty floor. He tested the knot inside him checking to see if his body would release it, his ass clenched around the toy like it had a mind of it’s own. Fine, what fucking ever.


End file.
